Spellbound
by transemacabre
Summary: Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins get up to some naughtiness in the middle of the night. Set before Survivor Series 2012. SLASH.


After almost ten years, two dozen indie companies, thousands of matches in crappy little bingo halls, sweating and spilling their blood to defend their titles, night after night, their careers had finally led them here, untold numbers of miles of asphalt later, to this little motel. Thanks to Paul Heyman, they would shortly storm the castle of WWE, make their voices heard, and set right some things that had gone very, very wrong.

Tonight was the first night they would all spend together: Dean Ambrose, Seth Rollins, and Roman Reigns. Paul Heyman had taken care of everything, their flights here, transportation to the motel, and the room itself. It was late by the time they checked in, but all three men were keyed up; jet lag and excitement screwing with their systems like mixing uppers and downers.

Seth Rollins was visibly uncomfortable. Dean found it amusing to watch him, the way Seth kept tucking errant strands of his trashy bleached blond hair back under his trucker cap, the way he squirmed in his shoes, how he refused to make eye contact with either of his new partners. Dean knew Seth wasn't a coward, so it was probably nerves getting to him, or maybe he was second-guessing himself. Truth be told, Dean had been surprised that Seth signed on for this mission. He was hungry for the big time, they all were; you didn't put eight or nine years of your young life into this business unless you were _hungry_ for it. But if anyone had asked Dean, he would've said Seth Rollins was too much of a good boy, he'd never do it, not in a million years. Dean wondered what Heyman had promised Seth to get him onboard. Maybe Seth even believed in their mission statement to bring justice to an unjust world. That was probably it, Dean decided, Seth wanting to play hero.

Heyman had only paid for one motel room. Cheap fucker. Dean vowed to drink all the little vodkas in the mini-fridge and charge it to Heyman's account. He and Seth followed Roman down the badly-lit hallway to the room. The room itself was small and smelled of stale air. It had two beds, with a nightstand sitting between them. Dean pulled open the drawer on the nightstand to find a Bible. A typical shitty motel room.

He and Seth both assumed one or the other would bunk with Roman Reigns, or as they'd known him until fairly recently, Leakee. He'd competed with them both in FCW on numerous occasions, but while Seth and Dean had had a heated feud, Roman had been just a competitor. He had no bad blood with them. Dean threw himself down onto one of the beds, toeing off his shoes and socks, while Roman laid his bag on the other bed. Seth tossed his bag down next to Roman's.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Roman. His voice rumbled like an oncoming storm.

Seth almost sputtered. "Aren't we... bunking?" He looked at the bed.

Roman gave him a look like he had to be kidding. "Bunking is what I did at summer camp when I was nine years old. I'm not sleeping in a bed with you." Dean started laughing and Roman glared at him. "Ambrose, you better not get any bright ideas, either." Roman sat down on the bed and that was that.

Seth stared longingly at the other bed. Dean didn't know a lot about the guy, but he could imagine. He bet Seth had grown up with a real nice family, in the suburbs somewhere. He probably never slept on a floor in his life. Groaning, Dean sat up. "Fine, take it." He brushed his wild hair out of his face. "I'll sleep on the fucking floor."

"No, it's okay." Seth sounded like he was forcing the words out from between his teeth.

"I said, you can sleep in the goddamn bed." Who did Rollins think he was, throwing Dean's kind offer back in his face?

"Share the bed," Roman told them. "You are both grown-assed men. You had to share motel rooms five hundred times shittier than this with your buddies back in your indie days. Man up."

The identical looks on Seth and Dean's faces said what they didn't want to say out loud: that back in their indie days, they hadn't known each other, and if they had, they would never have shared a motel room. It was one thing to share with a tag team partner, like Dean had with Sami or Seth had with Jimmy. It was a totally different thing to share a bed with someone you'd spent months beating the crap out of on a regular basis. Roman got up and walked into the bathroom. The faucet squeaked, and a moment later they could hear the shower going. Seth picked up his bag, put it on the bed next to Dean's feet, and began yanking things out of it.

Dean kicked at the bag. "Hey."

Seth ignored him, so Dean kicked his bag again. "I said hey - Hey!" Seth grabbed Dean's foot, holding him by the heel.

"What do you want, Ambrose?" Seth sounded tired.

Dean pulled his foot away from him. "We're partners now. We gotta work together." He smiled at Seth, enjoying the way he was obviously getting under his skin. A big part of the reason he'd joined FCW in the first place, aside from the paychecks and the opportunity to get away from the deathmatches which had ended up crippling guys like Thumbtack Jack, was to get his hands on Seth Rollins. They'd both been indie guys, big names in their own territories (Seth, as Tyler Black, arguably a bigger name than Dean as Jon Moxley, Dean grudgingly admitted to himself), but despite both of them having worked at some point for almost every promotion there was, they had never managed to meet and wrestle until they were in FCW. Dean couldn't rationally explain why he'd wanted Seth so badly. He knew that he loved the chills he got when they stared one another down; the touch of Seth's forehead to his when they tried to psyche each other out in the ring; the feeling of falling through the air, crashing into each other.

"What did you say that time, about me and you being lifers?" Dean asked him, sounding as if he didn't even care if Seth answered.

Seth pulled his shirt over his head. "Oh, that? I meant we were both in this for the long haul." He shook out his hair, looking down at Dean curiously.

"Yeah. We're both playing this game. And we can play with each other... or against each other." Dean liked that idea. He liked thinking of this thing between himself and Seth as some sort of cosmic tragedy.

"We put our bodies and our lives on the line out there, every day, and you call it a game?" Seth narrowed his dark eyes.

"Playing for keeps is still playing."

Roman left the shower, and Seth went in after him. Dean flipped through the television channels, then turned the TV off in disgust. There was nothing worthwhile on. Glancing over, he saw Roman dressing for bed, clad only in an almost see-through pair of boxers. His wide back flexed as he reached for a t-shirt to put on. Dean studied him. Roman was a handsome guy, good-looking enough to make girls snap at the neck, but Dean couldn't think of him in a sexual way. Maybe it was because Roman was so straight that if you cut him, he'd probably bleed heterosexuality. With that thought, Dean pulled his Swiss army knife out his pocket and began cleaning out under his nails.

The bathroom door opened and Seth emerged in a cloud of steam. "Your turn," he told Ambrose as he walked over to the bed. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd taken into the bathroom with him.

"Did you leave me any hot water?" Dean grumbled as he headed for the bathroom. While in the shower, he idly thought about jerking off. He couldn't very well do it in the bed tonight, with Seth only about a foot away from him. He caressed the head of his dick, which was already sitting up with interest, but couldn't seem to work himself up enough to get off. Frustrated, Dean hopped out of the shower, brushed his teeth in the sink, and yanked his boxers back on. His dick, still semi-erect, poked at the front of his boxers. Not giving much of a shit, Dean ambled out of the shower and into the bedroom. The lights were dimmed already, and Roman was laying in bed. Seth was sitting up in their bed, texting someone on his phone. As Dean approached, Seth glanced up, and his gaze lingered on the tenting of Dean's boxers for a second longer than it should have. Quickly, Seth returned his attention to his phone. It didn't escape Dean's notice that Seth's neck and cheeks looked flushed all of a sudden.

"Move over," Dean said, intentionally taking up as much space on their bed as he could. Seth elbowed him back.

"Stay on your side."

"Like I'd come over there." Dean rolled onto his back. He thought about nights like this with Sami, staying in some roach motel or fucking some girl to let them sleep in her apartment. His dick was still hard; he began wondering if he could jerk off while Seth was asleep.

Seth plugged in his phone, and then climbed under the sheets, which were stiff and industrial-feeling. His foot brushed Dean's as he settled in. "Stop fucking kicking me," said Dean.

"I'm not kicking you." Seth clenched his jaw.

"Shut up, both of you," said Roman from across the room, making Dean and Seth jump a little. They'd assumed he was asleep. Seth reached up and turned off the light. The room plunged into total darkness. Dean palmed his erection through his shorts, but it had gone soft, finally.

* * *

He woke up the next morning before dawn, because someone's foot was in his ribs. Dean instinctively pushed at the foot, and cracked his eyes open to see that Seth was on the far other side of the bed from him, curled almost in a ball, except for the foot he had planted in Dean's ribs. What the hell, did he think Dean was going to crawl across in the middle of the night and grab hold of him or something? Dean shoved Seth's foot away. Whimpering in his sleep, Seth wiggled even further away from him. Knowing there was no way he was getting back to sleep, Dean got up, got dressed, and left to go on a run.

The cool air and the steady rhythm of the run helped Dean's rampaging thoughts get in order. Seth's foot in his ribs rankled him, not so much because of the physical discomfort (he'd been bodyslammed through barbwire before, that was not going to bother him) but because of the assumption, even if it was unintentional on Seth's part, that Dean would _do_ something to him. Okay, so he'd made the guy's life a living hell for a few months. But he didn't attack guys in their sleep. In the ring, yes. Backstage, yes. In the parking lot after a show, yes. But attacking a guy in his sleep would be like kicking him in the balls, and Dean _hated_ lowblows.

He returned from his run to find Roman and Seth getting dressed. Dean glared at them both as he came in.

"What?" asked Seth.

"Whatever," said Dean, stalking into the bathroom for another quick shower.

They met with Heyman that afternoon, worked out some details, and got their gear. Uniforms, jackets, and a camera. Their time was starting now. Back to the motel that night; tomorrow they would be on the road to Indianapolis.

Dean, Seth, and Roman barely spoke to each other. Roman wasn't that big a talker anyway, but the tension between Dean and Seth was like a growing, twisting, living thing. Dean kept trying to stare Seth down, trying to get a reaction, annoyance, anything. A punch to the kisser. But Seth wouldn't take his bait, not when Dean purposefully stepped on the backs of his shoes as they walked down the hallway, not when Dean made a crack about his trashy hair, not even when Dean snatched Seth's towel from around his waist. Seth was already wearing underwear, and just climbed in bed and turned his back to Dean. He didn't even bother putting on his shirt or sweatpants.

"Sweet dreams, Sethie," Dean told him in a fake-cheerful voice.

"Go to sleep, Ambrose," said Seth wearily.

* * *

Dean's eyes snapped open again, trying to focus on the grey-out room. The red light of the clock read 4 AM. It was four o'clock in the morning, Roman was snoring softly across from them, and Dean Ambrose was grinding against Seth Rollins' ass.

Dean didn't know how they'd ended up like this. He was curled around Seth, his face tucked into the curve of Seth's shoulder, his cock rubbing against Seth's ass. One of Dean's hands was under the pillow under his head, and the other was wrapped around Seth's midsection. And Seth's hand was clamped over it. Dimly, Dean expected Seth to roll over and punch him as hard as he could in the face. He braced for impact.

Instead, Seth made a groaning sound, and pushed Dean's hand lower, brushing it along his belly. Dean's fingers dragged across Seth's abdomen, to the unmistakeable, warm bulge in his underwear. Seth thrust forward, and Dean's hand tightened, cupping and squeezing him. "Oh god, oh god," panted Seth.

Dean swallowed thickly. So _this_ was the tension between them all this time. On some animal level, he'd always known. Sex, violence, call it what you will. He squeezed Seth again, grinding against Seth's ass, the friction so sweet that he could almost come from that alone. Seth keened, thrusting against Dean's hand. Shifting a bit, Dean bit down lightly on Seth's shoulder, his tongue flicking out to caress and lick up the salt from his skin. Un-fucking-believable. Seth Rollins was coming apart in his arms.

Seth groaned in protest as Dean pulled his hand away, but it was only for a moment so that Dean could release his erection from his boxers. He stuck his hand inside Seth's underwear, tugged it down, and finally made skin to skin contact with Seth's cock. Seth was rock hard. So needy. Dean hushed him. "Don't wake Roman," he whispered, before biting down lightly on the shell of Seth's ear. He began pumping Seth with long, slow strokes, making it last.

Angling himself slightly, Dean's cock rubbed up against Seth's bare sac. Strangling to keep from crying out, Seth thrashed in Dean's arms. Dean moved the hand that he'd been keeping under the pillow, curling it around so that he could shove his fingers into Seth's mouth. Two fingers forced their way past Seth's lips; to his surprise, Seth eagerly sucked at them. His cock was _so_ hard in Dean's other hand, he had to be close to coming.

"Is this what you want?" Dean rasped into Seth's ear. "This what you been needing? My hands on you? My cock? This what gets you off?" He pumped faster, enjoying the way Seth's body tensed. His muscles went taut, Seth sucked in a deep breath through his nose, and then moaned around the fingers in his mouth. His cock spurted into Dean's hand, his hips thrusting frantically. Dean stroked until he was sure every last bit was done, and held Seth tightly. Pulling his fingers from Seth's mouth, he rolled them so that Seth was on his belly, supporting Dean's weight above them. "Be good, be so good for me," Dean whispered to him. He bit down on the place where Seth's neck met his shoulder, one hand holding Seth's arm down, the other bracing him against the mattress. He wasn't inside Seth, and there was no way he was fucking him raw, no lube or anything, so frot would have to do. He parted Seth's legs with his own, thrusting up against him with brutal power.

Seth buried his face in the pillow, letting out little shocked gasps with every breath. "You like that? You like my cock?" Dean breathed into his ear. "Is this the first one you've ever had? Huh? Little slut." He grasped a handful of Seth's hair, wrenching his head back far enough that Dean could lick at his mouth, thrusting his tongue into Seth's mouth even as he thrust his dick against Seth's ass. Seth was supporting both of them now on his forearms. The mattress squeaked wretchedly beneath them. Dean hoped that Roman didn't wake up; he didn't think he could stop. _Oh fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes_. Dean went over the edge fast and hard, panting into Seth's mouth, his fingers tightening in Seth's hair. Shaking, he rolled off onto his back. Seth lay beside him, silent, so silent that Dean almost thought he had somehow fallen back asleep. The pillow rustled; Seth had turned his head to look at him. In the darkness, his eyes were large and luminously black, his expression unknowable.

Roman was still snoring softly. He had slept through the earthquake and the aftershocks. Seth slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom, tugging up his underwear as he went. He emerged a minute later, carrying a wash cloth. Sitting on the bed, Seth cleaned himself off and then passed the cloth to Dean. It was warm and wet. Dean wiped himself down, and then threw the thing on the floor beside the bed. Fuck it. He collapsed back on the bed. Seth lowered himself, hesitant in his movements, as though he thought Dean would kick or punch him. Rolling onto his side, Dean caught Seth by the side of his face, pulling him close enough to plant a soft kiss on his mouth. To his surprise, Seth reached up and brushed a hand across Dean's forehead, touching his hair with something like reverence. This, Dean had not expected. He had half-thought Seth would come to his senses and punch him. Violence he understood, could anticipate. He was rarely touched with gentleness.

They moved closer together, and then fell asleep again with Seth's hand cupping the side of Dean's face.

* * *

"I don't even WANT to know."

Dean blinked up at Roman Reigns, who was standing over his bed, arms crossed, like a parent who has caught two children being naughty. Looking down, Dean saw that Seth had wiggled into his arms, and was sleeping with his head on Dean's chest. They'd kicked off the blankets at some point, and their dirty underwear was hanging off their hips.

"Uh..." Seth lifted his head. He looked adorable with his sleepy eyes and sex hair. Dean smiled at him fondly.

Roman stomped off. "I don't even want to know!"


End file.
